Something True
by DaeDreemer
Summary: Holiday story, focusing on the N-JBC and their relationships post 3x12.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer**: I do not own "Gossip Girl."

**Author's Note**: Part 1 of 3. Thank you for reading.

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***

* * *

She's asleep when he walks in, asleep and alone. He frowns a little at that, there should be someone here— she shouldn't be alone. But he's learned (_really _learned) that things hardly ever go as they should.

He stands over her silently, wants to touch her, but he doesn't (doesn't think she would want him to). He stands beside her bed instead and he watches her breathe, the way her chest rises and falls softly. The blankets and clothing she's swaddled in are blue, but they're not _her_ blue— too dull for that. He lets his eyes rove slowly over her face, the curve of her jaw and how pale her cheeks are, the way her bottom lip puckers out in sleep and the faint freckles over her nose, the arch of her eyebrows and— and the scrape on her forehead; his gaze stutters over it… swollen and raw-looking. He stares at it, the way it mars the smoothness of her skin...

And he thinks, _she could have died_, sees the car in his minds-eye, the blood on the windshield, the ambulance, the lights, the paramedics, the stretcher; hears her voice (too soft), remembers her gaze (too unfocused)— and there's something hot and tight that throbs in his chest suddenly, painful and expanding, until his breath hitches and he makes himself, _forces _himself_, _to think of something else…

Thinks of two years ago— their summer of pretend, spent on a beach with laughter and iced coffee; thinks of seven years ago and ball-room dancing classes, missed steps and unaffected twirls, thinks of seven years ago, marshmallow wars and spin-the-bottle, he thinks of tag during recess and Oreo's with milk as they watched cartoons, of hiding from nanny's during Easter Egg hunts and stealing cookies from the kitchen during Christmas parties, he thinks of the little girl she used to be and how he'd always trailed behind her, always wanted to be wherever she was; he thinks that they grew up too fast and that she's always _moved _too fast…

And it's not helping dissipate the sensation in his chest, it's still expanding, moving up to his throat, a lump— tight and uncomfortable— and he closes his eyes, doesn't think of _anything_ for a long moment.

She's still sleeping when he opens his eyes again, still alone. He doesn't know where everyone's gone, thinks they shouldn't have left, she shouldn't be alone—

She shifts in her sleep, turns her face, an arm slipping out from under the blue blanket, a lock of hair falling across her face— and he wants to touch her, but he doesn't. He touches the blanket instead, pulls the edge of it back over her; covers her up. His hand hovers over that strand of hair, fingers _almost— _but he doesn't.

She didn't stay (she never does).

He should really leave, except that he can't— she shouldn't be alone.

She could have died.

He drops his arm to his side, watches her again— she shifts into the pillow, winces a little, sighs, falls still.

And he can't watch her anymore (can't touch her, can't leave), he sighs into the quiet room, watches the monitor instead, the numbers and lines until they start to blur in front of him, and then he moves around the bed to the armchair. He sits down, feels tired, _exhausted, _suddenly; numb, weary— sapped of all the reserves he'd had— _she could have died, _still lurking, slithering through his thoughts. He leans back and closes his eyes, rubs a hand over his face, tries not to wince as he bends the knuckles of his hand; tries not to think of his cousin, of how his family keeps surprising him in new and terrible ways. It makes his skin prickle and the lump in his throat, in his chest, pulsate when he thinks of what Maureen was willing to do, what Tripp was willing to _let_ her do…

He takes a deeps breath, knows if he were to open his eyes, he wouldn't be able to see Serena's face from where he's sitting, knows once upon a time he would have dragged the armchair closer to the bed, would have taken her hand, would even have woken her up just to hear her voice (_she could have died)_; once upon a time he would have been here with Blair, holding her hand, while Chuck bitched about missing a party, but ordered a nurse to bring them coffee; once upon a time they would have been here, no arguing, all night, playing cards and drinking hot chocolate; once upon a time things had made sense…

Overwhelming, nearly unbearable, stifling, sense— but _sense_ nonetheless. There'd been steadiness once; once there'd been a path paved for him and he'd hated it, but he'd known it, where to find it, how to walk it. He doesn't know anything anymore— can't find anything that's steady, everything shifts, moves, leaves…

He clenches his eyes tighter and blows out a long breath, forces himself to relax, to not think, to not remember, smoothes his fingers slowly over the wooden arms of the chair, thinks the room is a little chilly, that the entire space around him is too quiet, he can hear distant sounds of talking, muffled footsteps, a distant phone ringing— and if he listens closely, blocks everything else out, he can hear Serena's breaths, the rhythm of her sleep… and he focuses on that, on the deep well of _relief _that's pooled inside him, let's himself fall into, submerges himself completely, and lets it carry him off into sleep.

***

Serena wakes up once during the night, headachy and dry-mouthed, a little cold and feeling _lonely;_ she shifts, turns, looks around, finds Nate in a armchair, sprawled and asleep and _there, _and she falls back asleep with a tiny smile on her face.

***

Serena comes awake as Nate is walking towards the door. He'd told himself there was no reason to sneak out, so he hadn't— but now that she's waking up, shifting her legs and lifting her head to look at him, batting hair from her eyes and pushing blankets back, sitting up slowly and offering him a tentative smile— he sort of wishes he had. He stops at the foot of the bed and shuffles his feet a little as she runs her gaze over him, "Hey…" she murmurs hoarsely, winces at the scratchiness of her throat.

Nate's moving to pour her water in a glass before she can finish rubbing at the base of throat. "Hey yourself," he says softly, extending the glass to her.

She shifts again, pushes herself into a sitting position and promptly goes a shade paler; she closes her eyes as the room does a slow spin around her, brings shaky fingers to her temple and lowers her head.

"Serena…" Nate calls, a spike of worry making his voice stern, he lowers the glass, "You okay?"

She blinks slowly and looks up, reaches for the glass of water without answering.

"Serena…" he says her name again, softer this time, as she takes a careful sip. "I'll get someone to—"

"No, no…" she tells him quietly, "It's okay, I'm okay…" she blows out a slow breath, rests the glass of water atop the mattress, "Just a little dizzy… for a second…"

He pauses a beat, "You're sure?"

She draws in another slow breath and looks up at him, his button-down shirt is rumpled and his hair is scattered around his head messily… and he looks tired, she thinks suddenly, his blue eyes muted and strangely somber. "I'm sure," she answers, meeting his gaze, remembers him asleep in her room, "I saw— you spent the night and— thanks for…" she trails off, acutely aware of how unnecessary (of how completely insufficient) the words are. The water glass feels cold in her hand suddenly and she gives him a wan smile, "It doesn't hurt too badly…" she touches gently at her bruise with her other hand, adds, "Bet it looks great though," with forced casualness she knows he can hear as clearly as she can— hopes he'll take it as willingly as she's offering it.

But he doesn't.

Nate doesn't have the energy pull it all in (feelings, thoughts, words) and let out only the slivers he's allowed under their _friends _heading— he reigns everything in instead, keeps it close, tight, as he stares at her, hard, his blue gaze intent on her face, "Could be worse," he states after a long moment; _could have died_, slithers through his thoughts again, and he stamps it down. He's not sure what to do, where to look, so he pulls his gaze away from her, takes a step back. He moves back to the foot of the bed, closer to the door, "You look… better than yesterday," he continues, she'd been too pale yesterday…

He clears his throat, "I uh, have to— to go," he tells her, "Class." It's maybe a lie, he can't really remember when his next class is, doesn't even know what the time is— he just knows he needs to get away from her, from those big blue eyes that read every single thing he is, _wants,_ but pretend they don't. "So I'll see you— I'll check in on you later, okay…?" He starts to turn away, doesn't make it…

Serena calls, "Nate—" before he moves.

"I'm glad you're feeling better," he interrupts before she can say anything other than his name (that's bad enough; with the way her lips pucker downwards, the way her eyes radiate regret).

She blinks at him, "I— you didn't have to… stay." She finishes lamely, awkwardly, because he'd slept in her room, in a chair, by her bed— he'd _stayed _with her.

And she isn't surprised, but she should be— she should feel surprise that he would still do that for her, that he still cared for her like that— that he'd answered her call and her questions, that he'd soothed her fears and been on his way to pick her up, but she wasn't surprised…

Isn't.

Because he's _Nate_. And he… he's—

"I fell asleep," he deflects carefully, gives her a rueful shrug.

He's good.

"You're too good to me," she whispers (_means _it), there's a lump in her throat and what feels like tears behind her eyes— they feel hot and heavy and are making her head throb with pain, but she keeps her eyes on his face, he deserves that much from her.

He tries to smile at her, but it feels brittle on his face, like it's going to crack him in half…

The word echoes in his head, _good, _feels like its bouncing around the room, striking at him, _mocking _him.

Good.

He's always the _good_ one, the perfect one, epic escort, golden boy, _prince-fucking-charming_—

"_I'm not._" He snaps at her, doesn't mean to and when she flinches a little, he looks away.

The fierce quality in his voice surprises her, but it's the glimpse of something, a sheen of _hurt _in his gaze before he looks away, thatmakes her ignore the headache, sit up straighter, "Nate, you—"

He shakes his head, won't let her finish, "I have to go… you— I'm sure someone will be by in a little while," he'll call Chuck, he thinks, make sure someone is, "Try to get some rest."

"Nate," she calls him again, "Wait, please, look— we… just, please sta—" she's less than a breath away from saying it and she knows exactly what it'll do, exactly what she'd be asking of him, and she almost does it, almost asks him to stay with her.

But its actual _pain _that flashes across his face, like she's punched him in the stomach or stomped on his foot (or stabbed him in the heart) and her mouth snaps shut, she chokes on that last breath, swallows it down—

"Serena…" And it's in his voice, in the eyes he's fastened on her face, the way he's holding himself; it's just a moment, just a few seconds, but she knows, he's asking her, begging her, not to ask, _please don't ask._

He'll stay, if she asks him too. He'll reign it all in and sit at the end of her bed, joke with her and tickle her feet and jokingly tuck her in when she gets sleepy— and every second of it would shred him to pieces inside.

"Yeah, no— you're right! Go, class is… important," she says instead, pushes the words out and when they emerge tiny and tight, she knows it doesn't matter. They'll both pretend its okay, normal (they're both good at that), "And I'll get some rest," she finishes.

Nate nods, still tense, can't uncoil with her watching him. "Right…" he says," Good— I'll see ya…"

He walks towards the door then, has a foot past the doorway, in the hallway, when he hears her; voice soft and shaky, but warm, "Thank you," she has to tell him, he deserves to hear it.

The words give Nate pause and he's grateful he's already turned away from her so she can't she see his wince; the words strike at him with the same force _good _had— _thank you. _

He wants to laugh, but there's no room for it, everything coiled too tightly, everything inside too dry. She said _thank you _and he was _good _and this is what they are— good friends who help each other, nothing wrong with that.

"Anytime," he responds just as softly, but he doesn't turn around (_can't_), he walks away.

* * *

***

* * *

Serena is still crying when Blair arrives.

She's lying on her side, legs curled, knees pressing into her stomach with silent tears slipping down her cheeks. And she can't stop— she's tried, for the last half hour at least. Her head is throbbing and she's trying so hard to stop, to not think of Tripp, of how wrong she'd been, of how many times she'd made this same mistake already (of Nate and how he'd stayed with her). So she draws in a hitching breath, _forces _herself to think, _I'm okay, I'm okay, _over and over again and eventually, she's _certain, _she'll stop crying. She will.

Blair winces as she walks towards the blonde, sets her bag down at the end of the bed and sits carefully beside Serena; her hands going to the blonde immediately, on her arm, in her hair, as she whispers gently, "Oh honey," and smoothes soft blonde hair away from the other girl's face. She doesn't ask her what's wrong, knows sometimes there just aren't words, instead she settles on the bed and strokes Serena's hair gently, let's her cry.

Serena blinks open wet eyelashes to look at Blair, lifts a hand to wipe at her face. "B…" she murmurs softly, closes her eyes again and leans into the brunette's touch, "I'm okay," she whispers, as if saying the words brought with it a dusting of magic, could make it true, "I— just… everything is so…" She trails off, doesn't have anything more to say, any excuse to offer— Blair had warned her, Blair forgave her. Chuck would too. Nate already did. Her mother had as well. Everyone had warned her, everyone forgave her… and when she'd gotten into that car on Thanksgiving Day, she'd _known_ the mistake she was making— she'd done it anyway. She always did things _anyway_ (and she's leaving a trail of heartbreak behind her).

"Shhh," Blair murmurs a long moment later when tears keep slipping from beneath Serena's closed eyes. "I know you are…" she comforts, "You're okay…" she agrees. Because it's so blatantly obvious Serena _isn't _okay that there's really no need to discuss it.

And Serena feels warmth spread all over her at Blair's firm acquiesce to her statement, opens her eyes again and looks at Blair, more tears pooling and a breath hitching, because _Blair _had said it for her, _you're okay, _and Blair can create truth with her words, can spin entire realities into existence.

She sniffles and Blair smiles a little, leans down towards her for a hug. Serena closes her eyes, stretches into Blair's embrace, presses her face into soft brown curls, and if she shudders and continues to cry, sobbing a little into her best friend's shoulder— well, neither girl will allow that this detracts from being _okay._

_

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***

* * *

Blair doesn't ask about the tears. She doesn't guess at them either, not even to herself. The events of the past day have sort of put the past week into a strange perspective. As far as she's concerned, those events, of the past week, were laid to rest the night before (_you were so right about this one)_, all she wants this morning is to see Serena finish her orange juice, smile a little, and go home (home, where Chuck's being as oddly comatose as his sister). But there's no sipping of orange or smiling and they sit in the Bass limo in silence. Serena is completely still, mute, hands clenched loosely in her lap, eyes fastened to the floor. Blair had brought clothes to the hospital for her to change into, had pulled blonde's hair back, fastened it with a clasp so it didn't hang in her face. And Serena had let her, had slipped her feet into the ballet flats Blair had brought her, had listened to the nurse's advice, had followed Blair's quiet instructions— all without a word.

It's eerie and Blair has had enough of it. "What are you thinking, sweetie?" She wonders finally, reaches out and takes one of Serena's hands, holds it in both of hers.

Serena doesn't respond. She's not thinking anything… she's… numb. And she loves it, loves this feeling of not feeling, wants to hold onto it as long as she can manage it.

But Blair presses, says, "Serena…" her voice insistent, not to be ignored. She squeezes Serena's hand and the blonde turns her head to look over at her.

Serena doesn't mean to say anything, doesn't _feel _anything, but the words slip past her lips anyhow, "Nate stayed with me," she says rather abruptly, "Last night."

Blair takes it— any comment is better than none. She smoothes one of her hand over one of Serena's, nods slowly, "That was… nice of him," she says carefully, there's a dullness to Serena's voice she's uncertain about. She sighs a little a beat later, shifts on the seat so her body is facing Serena, "I'm sorry I didn't come back yesterday," she confesses quietly and she really is; had wished she could split herself in half last night, sit with Serena and comfort Chuck.

Serena' starts a little at Blair's voice, as if she hadn't expected Blair to speak; she licks her lips and focuses her gaze on her best friends face, but remains silent.

"I… couldn't… leave him, you know…?" Blair presses on, "So I'm glad Nate was there to—"

"Leave who?"

And it's Blair who starts a little now, "Chuck, Serena." She says patiently, "He was really shaken up yesterday; and it only got worse as—"

"What do you mean? What's wrong with Chuck?" The numbness is dissipating then, slipping away to make room for razor-edged concern.

Blair smiles softly; her brown eyes kind as they meet Serena's blue, "Yesterday was the one year anniversary of Bart's death, S," she whispers. And maybe another day, she would have followed that up with a _how could you forget?_ or with a disapproving frown, maybe a shake of her head, but not today; today she reaches out to gently tuck strand of Serena's hair that's gotten loose from the ponytail behind her ear.

The blonde's eyes widen in surprise, "Oh no…" she breathes, shifting on the seat too so she's facing Blair completely. She winces, feels sore and achy, but she _forgot _so it doesn't matter,"Oh B… I…" she shakes her head, keeps her incredulous gaze on the brunette, "And a car acci— I'm so sorry… I…"

"Hey, it's okay; it's not your fault. Tripp is the one—"

"It _is _my fault," Serena interrupts, thoughts colliding into each other suddenly, _mistakes_ and _doing things anyway_ and a _trail of heartbreak _behind her that's getting too long, too hard to move away from. "And I made everything worse for Chuck last night and that's exactly what I've been doing for—"

"Stop it," Blair cuts in firmly, squeezes Serena's hand, "Calm down. What happened with Tripp was a mistake and we all make those."

Serena blinks back tears that are stinging her eyes suddenly, "Yeah, and mine are the ones that usually mess—"

"Stop," Blair says it fiercely this time, her grip on Serena's hand almost painful, "Don't talk like that, you—"

"You warned me," Serena interposes, just as fiercely, "You did. And I didn't listen… I never listen and now—"

"That's right," Blair says quickly, forces lightheartedness into her voice as she loosens her hold, "Like when I told you not to buy those flats you're wearing— and there they were in your closet. And they look good on you; they look _like _you— a good match. You try things, S, and sometimes they match you and sometimes they don't."

Serena breathes out a huffy breath, half-way between a stifled sob and a surprised laugh, "Did you…" she leans back a little, blinks, "Did you just compare my relationship with someone to my buying shoes?"

Blair tilts her head, smiles a little, encouraging and sweet, "There's longevity in buying shoes," she points out, "I mean you still have _those." _

There's a quirk to Serena's lips then, faint, but _there. _"What's wrong with these?" She wonders, lifting her foot and looking down at them.

"They're yellow with blue and green polka-dots."

Serena looks back to Blair, "So?"

"With a giant gold flower."

"… it's not _giant."_

Blair smiles a little wider, tugs Serena by the hand, closer, and Serena obliges, the quirk spreading into a tiny smile as she slides across the leather seat.

When she's shoulder to shoulder with Blair she sighs a little and lets her head fall to rest against Blair's. They sit like that, in silence, for a long while. When the limo stops they don't move, Serena closes her eyes and Blair gives her hand a squeeze.

A beat passes and then she whispers, "It's okay, S."

And Serena wants to take it, the absolution, she really does; she wants to keep her eyes closed and let Blair's magic wash over her, let it brush things away until they _are _okay.

But she can't (the heartbreak in her wake is piling up and today, pieces of it shimmered dully in Nate's gaze).

And for this moment, away from anyone's eyes but Blair's (even her own), she can finally admit, "It's not, B," she keeps her eyes tightly shut as she continues still in a whisper, "It's really not."

* * *

***

* * *

Chuck's sitting in the living room when she walks in, not doing anything, just dressed and sitting on the couch— staring vacantly at the floor. She doesn't sigh. Blair sets her bag down on one of the armchairs and sheds her jacket in silence; then she walks to him and sits down quietly beside him.

He blinks, looks over at her.

"I got Serena settled in at her suite," she tells him.

He leans back a little, "Right," he seems to flounder for a moment and then adds with a nod, "That's good…"

She nods back, "You're taking a break…" the pitch of her voice is encouraging, not quite a question.

"I'm waiting for a call."

And now she sighs, shifts a little closer to him so she can touch his hand, "Chuck…"

"I know what I'm doing, Blair."

"I didn't say you didn't."

"You're about to say something to that effect."

"No, I'm about to say that it's two days till Christmas and you should go see Serena and maybe let this rest until after the holiday's." She wants to add, _please, _but she doesn't really think it'll help any. There's a woman and a locket and she wishes she had gone to the cemetery with him. "Chuck…" she prods when he remains silent.

"I'm expecting a phone call." He says very evenly.

And her temper snaps, she stands, faces him with a scowl on her face, "It's _Christmas." _

He looks up at her mildly; he's not even _trying _to appease her, "Not for two days."

"You said we'd go skating," she points out.

"You really believe going _ice skating _takes precedence over this?"

"Of course not," she replies readily, waves a hand in the air and looks at him, her brown eyes imploring, "But I think you've done everything that can be done for now. It's weird, confusing, you _need_ to know what it means, it's a link to something you didn't expect to ever have— I get it, how _important _this is, but you've done nothing else for almost two _days_._" I'm worried about you, _remains unsaid, glimmering in her gaze.

"She looked like my _mother, _Blair."

And she slips back to sit beside him, her hand going to his again, "I know," she tells him and he turns his face towards her, meets her gaze, "I _know," _she repeats, twining her fingers with his, "And you _are _going to have her found, Chuck. It's going to happen. You have two of the best investi—"

"Four."

She nods, takes the curt interruption in stride, "You're going to find her. You're going to find out why she had that locket, what it means, why she was there, _everything_— it's going to happen. As soon as we have _anything _to go on, we'll track her down, figure it all out…" she squeezes his hand, "We're going to _know," _she tells him fiercely, "But you've done everything you can for now and this— this is— I want to spend Christmas _with _you. It's the first one we've spent together in—" she breathes out, "Like three years, I think… and it's our first one as a couple… it's special."

He doesn't respond, but he doesn't pull his hand away either, so she takes it as a good sign and continues. "I know it's hard and I'm not asking you to go caroling or anything—"

"You're asking me to go ice skating," he interposes, with a lift of an eyebrow.

And she smiles a little, feels a tiny breath of relief that he's speaking and it has nothing to do with real-estate, death, or possibly-blood-related mystery women, "We don't have to go ice skating," she amends, pulls his hand up to her cheek so its framing her face, "Just don't resist my holiday charm."

He's still for a moment, hand motionless against her face, and then he ducks his head, blows out a slow breath. Blair holds still and when he lifts his gaze to hers, she gives him a half-smile, softly teasing.

And he smirks at her, smoothes his thumb over her cheek, "Have I ever been any good at resisting your charms?"

She smiles wider, moves closer, tilting her face towards his, "Hmm, there was the time you called me a horse…" she murmurs as his lips brush against hers (the incident never fails to make him amorous).

His hand slips from her face into her hair, the other reaching out to wrap around her waist, pulling into him, "I don't recall you…" he breathes between a kiss, "… being particularly…" he yanks her hard, closer, and she gasps a little, hops onto his lap, "… _charming, _at the time…"

She turns into him, wraps her arms his neck, her skirt shimmying up her legs as he starts to pull clips from her hair. She presses herself closer, purrs, "Is this charming enough…?"

And he smiles against her mouth, tilts her down so they're stretched out on the couch, "It's getting there…" He whispers, lifts his head a little to look at her.

There's a wicked gleam in his eyes as he watches her and she leans up towards him, laughs lightly and wraps a leg around his middle, murmurs, "Full speed ahead then…" and grabs his bottom lip with her teeth.

***

Chuck blows out a breath, nuzzles his face into Blair's still damp hair, "If you'd told me the sex had conditions—"

Blair squeezes his hand hard, cuts him off, "—would you have refrained…?" She queries with a sidelong glance.

He purses his lips and tugs her into him as they wait for Serena to open the door, "I'd just have set my own terms…" he murmurs, lips moving against her temple.

Blair laughs, a hand tugging at his bowtie, "Our shower seemed like a term to me…"

"Mutually beneficial," he offers, turning her more fully towards him, "You were _dirty…" _

She smiles, presses her lips against his, "I'm not the one who—"

"Oh _come on," _Serena's aggravated voiced cuts Blair off, "Who wants to open the door to _this?"_

Blair turns around in Chuck's arms and sends her best friend a bright smile."Oh, you're quite welcome for the privileged view," she says cheerfully and slips inside, pulling Chuck behind her.

Serena's wearing long, baby blue pajama bottoms and a matching, bagging t-shirt with _It's Sleepy in Here _printed in big letters on the front. She sighs as she watches Chuck and Blair settle onto her couch, all over the blanket she'd carefully laid out intent on cuddling in it as she stared at the television. She had slept for a few hours after Blair had left, taken a warm shower— managed to wash away what was left of the numbness, to shift things into a more optimistic perspective (to blur the memory of Nate's gaze just before he left her hospital room).

"What're you guys doing here?" She wonders as she shuts the door carefully and turns around. Her head isn't hurting, but she's still achy and whenever she moves too fast the room does a slow, irritating lurch.

"I came to see how you were, dear sister," Chuck drawls, his arm around Blair's waist. He smirks at her for a moment, adds, "_Of course," _with a mocking tilt to his head.

Serena feels her lips quirk a little, "Wow, _thanks, _Chuck."

"He means it," Blair points out with a smile.

"Yeah," Serena agrees, "The insincerity is a total tip off."

"I do," Chuck adds more softly, eyes on her face, studying the marks on her skin with a sudden and strangely haunted look; but it flickers away before Serena can speak up about it; vanishes behind a smirk as he adds, "Henceforth you are only to travel with Bass sanctioned drivers," with the pomp of a reigning King.

It surprises a huffy laugh from her, brings a genuine smile to her lips and she waves a hand in the air, "Will do, Sire—anything else you'd like to command of me while you're at it…?"

Chuck beams a little, "Well, now that you mention it—"

Serena's laugh is louder this time and Blair rolls her eyes, cuts Chuck off, "We don't have time for that list," she corrects him and then pats the spot beside herself, eyes on Serena, "Come here..."

Serena smiles as she approaches them, "You have a list of things you'd like to rearrange in my life, don't you?"

Blair waves a hand, "Of course, but that's not why we're here…"

"Ah," the blonde murmurs, "Good to know… why're you here then?"

Chuck shifts so he can see both their faces when Serena sits down on Blair's other side. He eyes them with amused interest, says lazily, "Blair's going to proposition you."

And Serena blinks at him, stares for a moment; his hair is wet and combed to one side and he's wearing a shirt and vest of varying shades of green and beige with a patterned green bowtie. It's been a long time since she's Chuck in a bowtie.

She shifts her look to Blair, waves a hand as she leans back and settles in the corner of the couch, lifting her legs to tuck underneath her, "Go on then," she prods, puckers her lips in amusement, "Proposition me…"

Blair nods, almost too seriously, her brown eyes fastened on Serena's face. "You remember in eighth grade, you made us play that ridiculous made-up game involving gift wrapping and dollar limits— with the stealing…?"

There's a pause where Blair looks expectantly at the blonde and Serena blinks again, realizing belatedly that Blair wants a response. "You mean Yankee Swap?" Serena wonders, frowning a little, "I didn't make that up, lots of people play it. And I just wanted us to wrap them ourselves because—"

It's Blair now who waves a hand in the air, cutting the blonde off since she's gotten the acknowledgment she sought, "Sure," she says off-handedly before continuing, "And then you forced us to make our own hot chocolates and then we watched _Home Alone _and then—"

"Yeah, B," Serena cuts in, because she remembers a laughing Nate suddenly— letting her have his candy cane after he'd finished stirring his hot chocolate with it. "I remember," she offers and knows that her voice sounds a little tight, that she doesn't look as relaxed as she had a beat ago.

A look of determination slips over Blair's face. "I want you to do that again."

Serena gapes at the brunette for a long moment, "You…" she licks her lips, "You want to play Yankee Swap?"

Chuck snorts a quiet laugh, "How bad is that head injury, sis?"

Blair looks affronted, "Don't be absurd, Serena, I _abhor _that game."

Serena nods a little, careful to not overdo the motion, "I do remember you mentioning that once or twice when we played—" he lips quirk upwards again, "In fact, I think that's why eighth grade was _only _time we ever played…"

Blair nods too, "Once was quite enough, thank you very much."

Serena's smirk widens into a half-smile, "So what do you—"

"Fashion us a celebration," Blair answers even before Serena can finish, "Discounting our protestations, of course."

And this time Serena herself wonders how bad her head injury was, "What?"

"For Christmas," Blair adds, nodding once and looking over at Chuck meaningfully.

Serena shakes her head and this time there's a spike of pain behind her eyes and she winces. "I don't understand…"

"Blair has decided we are taking a…" Chuck pauses for a moment, a ghost of a smile on his face, "_Time out," _he says with emphasis, before continuing, "For the holiday's. She wants us to celebrate, put… unfortunate matters aside… until after the holiday's."

She looks at Chuck then, _unfortunate matters,_ sits up a little straighter, "Chuck…" she begins, blue eyes fastened on his face solemnly (because she _forgot _and he's her brother now), "About… yesterday… I—I'm so—"

"Behind us, Serena," he interrupts again, shakes his head.

"No, I mean yeah, okay… behind us," she agrees a little hesitantly, "But still, I just want you to— I'm sorry I wasn't around…" she sighs a little, "Okay…" waves a hand.

Chuck nods, "She's decided you are to plan our holiday celebration."

"And we'll go along with it," Blair adds, her hand tucked inside Chuck's now, "I mean, we'll complain, I'm sure—because it's certain to be a bit boorish, but we'll go along with it anyhow." She promises.

Serena stares at her best friend, at her brother, "You want me to force you into a Christmas celebration?" She concludes.

Blair shrugs, "There may be a fair bit of coercion involved, if you feel it's needed."

Chuck leers a little, leans towards Blair, mouth near her ear, "… thought coercion was _your _specialty…"

Blair turns her face towards him with a smile and Serena reaches out and kicks the brunette in the leg with her bare foot, "Focus— explain," Serena requests, not quite pleasantly. She loves it when Blair and Chuck are happy, she does, but she doesn't need _evidence _of it at every moment.

Blair eyes her for a moment, "Shouldn't you be wearing socks?"

Serena stares back, "Shouldn't you be explaining…?"

"We haven't spent the holiday together, all of us, in like three year. And it's been a stressful time and you're good at making us do ridiculous and imbecilic activities that don't result in completely unbearable memories."

"Oh wow, well, we you put it that way…" Serena smirks.

"I mean it," Blair continues, more sincerely, "You know we need this."

And Serena does know; and she knows that Blair's _we _includes Nate. She can't help feeling fidgety when she thinks of him, anxious, had been avoiding thoughts of him since getting to her suite— but he kept sneaking up on her, quick flashes of his solemn eyes, echoes of his quiet words, and a pit in her stomach telling her they were headed for a spill messier than the one she'd just endured.

Her smirk fades away. "B," she starts gently, tucks her leg back underneath her instead of letting it hang from the couch, "I agree, I do… but maybe… a _quiet _time-out would be okay this year," she offers softly, eyes drifting between the dark-haired couple, "I'm not really… up to it." She admits carefully.

Blair shakes her head and Serena feels weariness start to creep inside her; Blair wasn't going to back down from this, "We're offering to _let _you badger us into doing your bidding. You will take advantage of this, Serena."

It's a command and Serena has to smile a little, there's no doubt Chuck and Blair would be suited to ruling a small empire. "Blair," she says carefully, aware that her arguments are flimsy—that she's never not wanted to host a celebration for them,"I just left the hospital this morning, I'm really not up to—"

"I'm not asking you to do manual labor," Blair cuts in, "I'm asking for one of those absurd _hanging-out _plans you come up with on a regular basis."

Chuck inclines his head, "The ones we periodically demean and back out of."

"Yes, I know. And believe me, I get the humor in you _wanting _me to force you into one of them," she points out, still smiling a little, "But—"

"But nothing," Blair's gaze is hot and boring into Serena, "Admit it, we need—"

"I _did_ admit it," the blonde says; her words sliding over Blair's as her smile slips away, "I'm just saying that something quiet and—"

"Great," Blair says decisively, ignoring the rest of Serena's sentence, "Think it up, I'll make a list, and we'll set it in motion," she pauses for less than a heartbeat, but it's still somehow blatantly obvious, "Chuck's going get Nate on board when Nate gets back to their suite—he's been out all day," she finishes.

And Serena swallows hard, looks away.

Blair takes note of the action, there's something in the way the blonde blinks quickly, the way she turns away, that reminds Blair of this morning's tears, of Serena's _Nate stayed with me_ in the limo, the way it had sounded oddly like a confession. "Is there something you want to tell us, S?" She prods.

The living room is silent; the curtains are drawn across the windows, lamps on. Serena holds still in her corner of the sofa, doesn't turn her gaze to either Blair or Chuck, keeps it steady on the floor and keeps her thoughts steadily away from Nate. On Christmas day she's going to call him, wish him a Happy Christmas and meet him for hot chocolate at their favorite bakery; she's going to give him the polo shirts she bought him, the music CD she made him, and the soccer bobble-head doll that made her think of him—she's going to hug him and they are going to be okay (because they always are, they _have _to be).

But that is on Christmas day— a day from now, a day she's going to use to get a good grip on _steadiness. _

"Well," Chuck breaks the silence, tone _too _even and Serena's head turns to him quickly in sudden alarm, "She doesn't have to tell _me." _

Blair looks over at him, then back to Serena, "What's going on?"

But Serena's locked her gaze with Chuck's and she doesn't answer her friend.

"Nate's in love with her." He says it like he's talking about the weather, tone almost nonchalant, but his eyes are dark and they're holding Serena's with intensity. He's trying to read her, what she feels and wants and thinks, and she clams up tight at that probing gaze; straightens again and brushes hair away from her face.

"What?"

"Chuck."

Blair and Serena speak simultaneously, but Chuck doesn't take his eyes off his sister for a long moment. When he does, it's so he can nod once, positively, "He's in love with her."

Serena shakes her head, ignores the pang that causes behind her eyes, "That's not what—"

Blair huffs, speaks over Serena, turning her head to look at Chuck, "Is that supposed to be new information?"

"Blair!" Serena snaps, abruptly irritated.

Chuck meets his girlfriend's gaze, "He _told _her."

Serena drops her feet to the floor and glares at Chuck, "He did not!"

Blair arcs an eyebrow, "Oh."

"Oh, _nothing," _Serena continues, "Nate and I— we…" she trails, frustration welling up inside and she stands, paces in front of them, "I don't want to celebrate and I'm not in a planning mood and I want to sleep. I'll see you both tomorrow." She states tightly.

Chuck and Blair stare at Serena for a long moment and then Blair looks over at Chuck. "Oh wow."

He nods seriously, "Yeah."

"When was—"

"Thanksgiving."

"Oh— _ah," _Blair says with emphasis, everything clicking into place; Chuck going with Nate, Serena going with Tripp, _Nate stayed with me last night, _in a less than breaths then she smacks Chuck on the arm, "You _tell_ me these things!"

"Hey! Ow!" He rubs at his arm, "I've been busy and then—"

"And there's nothing to _tell," _Serena cuts in, "We… had a conversation," she hedges. _You can't call it that though, can you?_ She thinks sadly, the image of him asking her to stay flashing through her mind.

"You've been spending a lot of time together." Blair informs her; as if this could have escaped her attention.

"We're friends." Serena pushes the words, infuses them with every shred of belief she can muster, _friends, _and winces a little when the words sound weak even to her own ears. "And I'm tired, guys, really. Just drop it."

"You want us to leave?" Chuck wonders, studying her again; there's a challenging lilt to his voice, dark eyes glimmering. _Are you really going to run from this? How far? How long?_

And Serena hesitates. She's not supposed to want that, she's supposed to agree with them and giggle and nod and tell them she'll come with them to convince Nate, she's supposed to plan something for tomorrow, Christmas Eve, that's totally silly and she and Nate would love it and Chuck and Blair would deem it _beneath them _and they'll get drunk on scotch and sherry and pass the mistletoe around, so kisses for all— and it would be exactly what Blair said it would be, not completely unbearable memories, otherwise known as, _happy._

But she couldn't do it; couldn't want it (couldn't get that flash of _pain _across Nate's face out of her mind).

"I do," she tells Chuck; meets his gaze, answers, _yes, however far it takes, however long, to make this okay, to make this not hurt (him)._

"Serena," Blair starts.

And Serena flinches before the other girl can say anything more than her name, there's a spike of panic inside her, her face twists in a grimace— she _can't _talk about this _(him)_, "_Please." _She bites out, a headache starting to throb in her temples, "Just _drop it," _she pleads, clenches her hands together.

The couple is silent for another moment and then Blair nods, standing up, pulling Chuck with her.

"Okay," she says simply, walks forward towards Serena, "We'll come check on you tomorrow," she presses a quick kiss to Serena's cheek, "Take a relaxant, get some sleep," she advises.

Chuck nods, says, "See ya," touches her arm lightly before adding, "Sis," and the word is soft, sincere. Serena blinks at him, at them both; turns around to watch them leave. They don't say anything else, don't turn around, just quietly open the door and walk out, closing it carefully behind them.

And she stares at it for a beat and then she walks to her couch and pulls her now squashed blanket up to her shoulders, cuddles into the cushions, and closes her eyes intent on doing just that—getting some sleep.

(And she does _not _think of a boy asleep in chair beside her bed)

* * *

***

* * *

"Are you sure?"

Chuck nods. "I can handle it, Blair. Go coordinate with Dorota and find something delectable to wear."

Blair smiles a little, she's already dressed in a long coat and hat, is slipping her hands into her red cashmere gloves, "If you insist."

"I do," Chuck nods, he's sitting at the breakfast table, still in his robe, sipping at his coffee. They'd returned to Chuck's suite last night, spent the night sexing and scheming, had both awoken quite sated, "Seven o'clock, correct?" He confirms.

Blair nods. "Seven o'clock." She leans towards him, kisses him goodbye, and moments later has left the suite.

He just sits in the silence for a moment, and he feels the tug of work drift through him— he could call the investigators again, offer a higher bonus. He could look through the family records again, stare at the locket some more, hire _another _investigator.

Or he could do what he'd promised Blair he'd do. Take a time-out, celebrate their first Christmas as couple, convince Nathaniel that what he really wanted to do today was ambush Serena with a surprise Christmas Eve slumber party…

He stands and heads for Nathaniel's room—Blair would probably reward him for keeping a promise.

* * *

***

* * *

Wakefulness doesn't come in degrees. It comes in one abrupt moment of _cold _and of fingers on his face, of a silky voice saying, "Good Morning, Nathaniel."

And he doesn't lift his head to look at Chuck, turns it instead, away from the smooth voice, mutters, "G'way."

"Sadly my friend, today that is an impossibility."

And then there's a sting against his cheek; he ignores it, there's another then and he digs himself further into his pillow, peals an eye open, "'re you _slappin' _me…?" He mumbles (sleep is trickling away and he desperately wants to hold on to it).

"Only lightly," Chuck admits unrepentantly, "I need your full attention. Wake up. Plans have been made for us."

Nate groans, he'd spent most of yesterday with his mother; explaining to her why under no circumstances would he be spending the holiday's anywhere near Tripp or Maureen Van der Bilt. And then he'd come home to Chuck's closed door and swiped a bottle of scotch from the cabinet before closing his own door. "No," he spits out through a dry mouth, there's a dull ache in his head and he focuses on ignoring it, closes his open eye.

"Not an option." Chuck announces.

And then the mattress jiggles and its Chuck sitting next to him, dripping cold wet liquid onto his bare back. Nate makes an undignified squeaking sound and rolls over onto his back, eyes snapping open, "Go away," he repeats more clearly and then groans when the room lurches around him.

"Ah… you're hung-over," Chuck states sagely, "That is unfortunate considering our day's plans."

"I don't _have _plans, go away," He says steadily, eyes closed, and then he turns away from Chuck.

"We are going to surprise Serena with a Christmas Eve celebration." Chuck tells him.

And he _really _doesn't mean to, but he comes fullyawake at the mention of Serena.

Chuck's voice takes on a smarmy tone that tells Nate he's noticed the sudden alertness, "We are going to bring a tree, you will carry it of course, and we will decorate it."

Nate turns around to lie on his back and stare up at Chuck.

"We will consume festive drinks," Chuck continues, takes a sip from his glass of orange juice, "Candy, and…" he pauses, "I believe cinnamon buns were mentioned."

Nate swallows hard. Maybe he's dreaming…? "Um…"

"And we are going to play that game…" Chuck waves a hand, "The one Serena made-up in seventh grade… with the passing of the leaves and the song and the kissing…?"

"Mad Mistletoe," Nate voices, disbelief in his tone.

Chuck nods, "Right, yes, that. We will play that." He stops there, takes another sip of his juice.

Nate blinks, licks his lips and lifts a hand to rub at his face, drops it on his chest when he's finished, "Chuck… I don't—"

"And you are going to tell Serena that you are in love with her."

He… what? "I _what?!" _He snaps, sitting up abruptly. The dull ache spikes behind his eyes and he winces, brings a hand to his head as he _glares _at Chuck, "_What?" _He repeats again and there's _anger _in his voice now.

Chuck nods calmly, shifts so he can look directly into Nate's face, "Excellent Christmas gift, no?"

And Nate gapes at him— it's too much (and no warning), too early (and he's hung-over), too _raw _(and it _hurts_). He can't take it. He stands without saying a word to Chuck, staggers only one step as he runs a hand through his hair and then stalks out of the room.

And he slams the door behind him.

* * *

***

* * *

Chuck is _still _in his room when he comes out of the shower. Or rather, in his room _again, _judging by the clothes he's changed into. Nate's hair is wet and he's wearing a faded dark blue t-shirt with long, dark gray jogging pants.

"That attire is decidedly un-festive." Chuck pronounces as he goes digging for his sneakers in his closet.

"Not everyone can pull off a shimmering dark green vest, Chuck." He snits rolling his eyes and what his best friend consider _festive._

"Forest green, Nathaniel, and those are true words," Chuck agrees, watches as Nate pulls the sneakers on. "Going for a run?" He inquires coolly. He's sitting in the desk chair, reclined and studying Nathaniel with sharp eyes.

"Yes." Nate says shortly, ignoring the way Chuck's watching him.

"Am I to believe then, judging by your violent reaction, that you don't agree with today's plans?"

Nate's sitting on his bed, hasn't tied his laces yet, but he freezes, looks over at Chuck with narrowed eyes, "It wasn't a violent reaction."

"It's a testament to the quality of my hotel that the door did not crack with the force of your… non-violent reaction."

Nate huffs, bends to tie his sneakers, "Just drop it."

"Funny. That was her sentiment exactly."

He looks up quickly, "She knows about this?"

Chuck doesn't smile at the fact that Nate's _her _equals Serena automatically. "Of course not," he answers, "I did say _surprise _Christmas Eve celebration, did I not?"

Nate shakes his head, this isn't making sense and though the shower had definitely helped wake him up, there was still the vague remnants of a headache lurking behind his eyes, and he wasn't in the mood to deal with scheming-Chuck. He goes back to tying his laces.

"It's Blair's belief that Serena is much too somber for the holiday season. So, among other things, she has issued a time-out to be enforced today and tomorrow, as well as New Years Eve and Day." Chuck explains when Nate doesn't respond.

And Nate lifts his head, finds himself smirking a little as Chuck speaks, "So she's forcing you into this and you want to drag me along."

Chuck shakes his head, "She's forcing all of us."

"Not me," Nate says decisively, "I'm staying here and—"

"Drinking yourself to sleep?"

The smirk slips away, "If I feel like it." He challenges.

"Serena—"

"Would you _stop," _Nate snaps before he can help himself. He's not going to _talk _about it—it didn't _happen. _Tomorrow, Christmas Day, he's going to stop by her suite and he's going to smile at her and give her a hug and tell her Merry Christmas, he's going to give her the sunshine calendar that reminded him of her, and the music CD he made for her, and the white gold anklet he bought for her and they are going to be okay (because they always are, they _have_ to be).

But today he's going for a run and having a smoke (and a drink) and reminding himself (over and over) that things _are_ okay (normal).

"Stop saying her name?" Chuck wonders archly and Nate has the urge to stand up and tip the chair he's in over.

"You know what I'm talking about," he grits out, stands, intent on heading for the door, forces himself to add civilly, "I'll see you later."

"You should tell her you're in love with her." Chuck offers when Nate's reaching for the doorknob.

And Nate _snaps, _whirls towards the brunette with a scowl, "Fuck-off, Chuck!"

Chuck shrugs casually, but his eyes are dark on Nate's face, "No need to get crude. I'm simply pointing out that," he pauses for effect, "You should tell her you—"

"I DID." Nate shouts, his run momentarily forgotten. It rushes at him at then, the park where she'd seemed so familiar (the smiles and the humor and the just the two of them), the bar where she'd been so _close _(in his reach for maybe the first time in years)_, _the sidewalk curb where she'd walked away (she never could hold still) and he shuts his eyes and blows out a breath.

Chuck watches in silence for a long moment, let's Nate get it _almost _together, before speaking again, "You're misunderstanding me," he says steadily, "Did you say the words _I. Love. _and _You?" _ He waves a hand, "In that order of course."

Nate opens his eyes and stares at his best friend.

Chuck smirks, "They're strangely attached to the words, I've found. I blame the media."

And Nate takes a deep breath, forces himself to calm down. "Okay…" he says softly, drops his gaze to the floor for a beat, before lifting it to meet Chucks, "I get that you are trying to help. Thank you," he says with that calm he's forcing himself to have, "But _really, _you were helpful that night we got drunk, so you've done enough. So _back off." _

Chuck shrugs; he's got a strategic plan here. It involves completely tipping Nathaniel over the edge of patience and rationality (and he's going to do it in this chair to avoid getting his face smashed). "You should tell her you are in love with her," he repeats.

"STOP saying _that!" _

His best friend shouts it, fists clenching and Chuck holds back his smirk of triumph, "Why? It isn't true?!"

For a second, Nate can't _speak _he's so frustrated and then he starts to pace (needs to _move _or he's going to punch something), "No—" he starts angrily and then hesitates a step, "Ye—" he cuts himself off, "I don't _know." _He spits his steps fast.

"You don't know?" Chuck questions skeptically.

"Would you _stop." _ Nate wonders, halting his pacing as abruptly as he'd begun it, glaring at Chuck.

"No, sorry," Chuck admits, "I promised Blair."

"How about the two of you focus on your own issues—you do have _truckloads _of them you know."

Chuck stiffens a little, "We know, we have. But it's _you _we're discussing."

"We're not discussing anything! You're _telling _me to do something! And you know what, Chuck!? It's not that _easy, _okay?! I can't just walk up to her and be all, _oh by the way, I love you._"

"You're right. It's fucking hard."

Nate laughs and it's a sharp sound, "Right! But I have to do it anyway, right?" It's caustic question and Chuck holds his tongue, lets the words swirl in the silence of the room.

It works.

Nate runs a hand through his still damp hair and blows out a breath, "She's not ready anyway—it wouldn't matter, it'd just make everything worse…" he confesses.

And Chuck remains silent.

Nate stares at him waiting.

Chuck stares back, dark eyes intent and focused on his best friend and then he says very carefully, "Ready or not, you have to tell her."

"I can't…she just—you said so yourself, she's sad and just got out of the hospital and she's not _ready…" _he repeats with emphasis, "It would only… upset her right now."

Chuck doesn't restrain his eye-roll, "So upset her."

"Chuck—"

"You don't always have to be the good guy. You could just go in there and fuck up her whole life for a couple minutes," he waves a hand, "You'll have to put it back together when you're finished, of course." He stands finally, feels like his work here is done (for the moment anyway), "We're going over to her suite at seven o'clock—do try to wear something that is less… Brooklyn."

And then he leaves the room. And Nate stares after him.

_You don't always have to be the good guy, _echoing in his thoughts.

* * *

.TBC.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer**: I do not own "Gossip Girl."

* * *

***

* * *

"Okay, where _is _he?" Blair asks for the third time.

"Okay I don't know." Chuck responds a little testily now. "He's not here and he's not answering his phone."

"Call one of those— _people_ you employ," she waves a hand carelessly in the air.

He smirks, "It's Christmas Eve, _you _were the one who told me not be Scrooge."

"Well, where _is _he? He's twenty-seven minutes late!"

Chuck sighs and then pulls her off the sofa seat and onto his lap, "How about we try this for passing the time?" And then he kisses her.

Blair almost gives into it, she does. But she's wearing Dior and it took her thirty minutes to get just the right amount of curl into her lashes. "Chuck," she pushes back, pulls her lips from his, "My make-up…and I'll wrinkle," she points out.

"It's just _us," _ he notes, "Which means your make-up is for _me _and if you wrinkle, we'll just have to take that off now won't we…"

She laughs a little, "Yes we will," she agrees and then slides off his lap back on the couch, adjusts her dress carefully, "Tonight—if you behave and everything has gone according to plan."

And Chuck pouts a little. "I shouldn't be held accountable for their inability to—"

The door opens and Nate walks in.

Blair shoots to her feet, cutting Chuck off, "You're late!" She accuses.

Nate nods at her, he is. "But I'm here," he points out; shifting the bag he's holding from hand to hand.

"And you're wearing _that," _Blair snits, eyeing his jeans and t-shirt with disdain; and Nate's not really in a good mood (it's more grimly determined than _good), _but a smile touches his lips anyhow as he studies Chuck and Blair's outfits. They're both dressed as though they're about to attend the Holiday Gala of the season—Blair's red and gold dress is snug, glittery, and falls to just above her knees and Chuck's pants are a deep maroon, the shirt a lighter version of Blair's red, and the gold of her dress echoed in his vest and bowtie. Nate shakes his head at them, "We're going two floors down."

Blair roves her gaze over him once more, "Could you please brush your hair at least?"

He frowns at her, "It _is _brushed," he protests and almost raises a hand to it.

She doesn't look like she believes him.

"Let's go," Chuck intervenes before Blair goes into Nate's room and returns with a hairbrush. "The caterers are waiting to be summoned," he notes and pulls his phone out to send a message to that effect.

"And Dorota," Blair adds.

"You know Serena doesn't _use _caterers, or Dorota, when she plans stuff for just us, right?"

Chuck sends his friend a smirk, "Ahh, well look at you— saying her name…" he teases, "Good day then?"

Nate rolls his eyes, doesn't reply. It hadn't been _good _exactly, but he'd had a lot of time to think. He'd gone on his run (stopped before the smoke and drink). Instead he'd bought himself a pretzel and wandered over to the Zoo; and then he'd watched the tourists take in New York City—it'd been strangely soothing. And it had allowed him time to figure things out, to come to conclusions and form a plan, and drum up enough courage to see it through.

"We ready?" He asks, turning away from their intent looks.

"We are," Chuck answers.

They leave the suite quietly, head towards the elevator; and they ride in silence. Nate notices the way Chuck takes Blair's hand, the smile she sends him, and he focuses on that for a moment, on them happy and how they're doing this for themselves too (this _time-out), _how they need it too. And then he draws in a deep breath, digs inside himself to find something _festive _because he won't be the one to ruin this, had no plans to ruin it (not when they all needed it so badly). Quite the opposite actually— his plan involves practically full participation (and the fact that this was _Chuck-and-Blair _planning a Serena-style Celebration was just so inherently _awesome_ that he doubted it would be hard to pull off).

They step out on Serena's floor and Nate spots it immediately, next to her door, a bundled-up Pine Tree and he starts, swings his gaze to Chuck, "You _actually_ bought a tree!?"

"I did inform you of that this morning," Chuck points out, "And that you would be carrying it inside to her," he waves at the tree, "Have at it…"

Nate's going to ask if Chuck actually _meant _all the things he said they would be doing this morning, because he'd kind of disregarded most of them, but the appearance of a stream of caterers at the other end of the hall stops him before he begins.

They're holding covered trays and carrying bottles of Champagne, of sherry, a holiday bowl of something that looks suspiciously like egg-nog— along with flutes and glasses.

Blair takes a deep breath, "Okay, Nate, the tree." She points.

And then her gaze meets Chuck's for a moment, he nods at her and she takes a deep breath, says, "Good," and prepares to knock on the door.

"Wait," Nate says and he opens his bag a little, shifts around until he finds what he's looking for. He hands one to Chuck and one to Blair, "Serena would have you wear them," he says solemnly, but there's a half-smile on his face.

He puts his own Santa Hat on, lets the top of it flop near his ear; and then he stares at Chuck and at Blair with an expectant expression on his face—_you wanted this, _it reminds them, _you planned this._

There's a beat where the dark-haired couple just stares at the Santa Hat's and then Blair sighs. A moment later they're both wearing their hats and Nate smiles, nods— and bends down to lift the tree by it's trunk.

* * *

***

* * *

Serena opens the door bare-foot and wearing shorts, her hair's pulled back into a messy knot and her t-shirt is old and tight and not Blair-sanctioned.

She's expecting Chuck and Blair (had been expecting them all day, actually). She's even expecting Chuck and Blair dressed to kill, because there's about five parties going on tonight (and that's just in a one mile radius). What she's not expecting is Chuck and Blair in Santa Hats.

Or Nate.

She takes an alarmed step back, a hand coming up to her chest, eyes wide.

Blair laughs at her, "Merry Christmas!" She cries and her smile is wide, "We're throwing you a Christmas Eve Celebration! Surprise!"

Chuck nods, smiling a little at her expression, "No need to look so horrified," he says, as he pushes past her into the suite, "We brought drinks."

Blair laughs again, brushes a hand over Serena's bare arm as she too, pushes her way inside. "And sweets."

And then it's just Nate standing in the doorway, wearing a Santa Hat and a half-smile, not quite meeting her eyes and holding up the end of a pine tree. "So… can I come in?" He wonders after a beat and there's a thread of humor in his voice, "I really want a candy cane…"

Serena hears it, that thread, and she blinks at him, her eyes falling to the tree and then climbing back up to his face; and her hearts thumps hard in her chest when he meets her gaze…

She breaks the look almost instantly, nods and steps back, "Yeah, of course…" she says it on a rush, a hand fluttering at her side.

And then forgets to follow him in because he's followed by two, three, _five_ people…

She turns around, watches as they invade her suite, taking the tree from Nate and laying out drinks and desserts and holiday garnish…

"Wait a second, wait!" She calls, "What is this?" Her eyes scan the group until they land on Blair.

"I told you," her friend answers, "We're throwing you a Christmas Eve Celebration, surprise," there's considerably less enthusiasm in her voice now, determination taking its place, and Serena blinks.

Dorota wanders in next; she's carrying a bag in each hand. "Ornaments, Miss Blair," she says, smiling.

Blair nods, "Thank you, Dorota," she tells her sweetly and motions for one of the staff to come forward. "You be careful with these," she tells the dark-haired woman that steps towards her, "They're _valuable," _she explains as Dorota hands them over.

The woman nods and takes the bags very carefully.

"What now, Miss Blair?"

Dorota asks almost eagerly and Serena knows she's full on staring now at the transformation taking place in her living room. Chuck's moved to sit at the counter, no glass of scotch yet, but he's looking strangely _pleased _with himself as he watches the bustling going on. Nate's helping put the tree into the tree-stand and she realizes abruptly that it is a _real _Pine Tree… as in _nature._

"Wha—?" she starts, but Blair's speaking again, eyes on Dorota.

"Oh that's all, Dorota! We're going to take it from here," she says happily, "I'll see you tomorrow at the house!"

Dorota nods, smiling, tells them all _have plenty of fun _and then leaves as quickly as she'd arrived.

And Serena turns around in a circle, there's garland being strung up at her windows and mistletoe in her doorway's and trays of _candy _being laid out—_trays of candy._

Her gaze goes back to Blair. The brunette smiles again, "You're welcome."

"B…" she doesn't know what to say, but she's pretty sure _thank you _isn't on the list of possibilities. She isn't _ready _for this— her eyes slip back to Nate. He's done helping with the tree; and he's just staring at it now, brow a little furrowed in thought.

Everyone seems to be finished;moving away and leaving behind strings of lights in a colorful puddle by the tree, poinsettias on every surface not covered with food or drink, and brightly wrapped gifts on the coffee table.

It's another moment and they're gone; she's alone in her suite with Chuck and Blair and Nate…

"What—?" She starts to ask again.

Chuck cuts in, "It's a rudimentary concept, Sis."

The living room is completely still for a beat as she turns to her head to look at Chuck. There's a mocking lilt to his voice and she feels herself beginning to frown. "I remember clearly saying that I didn't want—"

"We ignored you," Blair cuts in cheerily, "And we're here now, _all _of us," the emphasis on _all _is not nearly slight enough and the brunette doesn't even bother with subtlety as she cuts her eyes over to Nate, "And you're not going to ask us to leave, are you?" She wonders, gaze back on Serena.

Serena blinks at her. Blair arcs an eyebrow.

"Of course she isn't," it's Nate who answers the question, turning around from where he'd been facing the tree to look at the three of them, "We brought _candy_."

The words are inflected with humor and Serena's gaze slides over to Nate automatically; finds him smiling, smiling _at _her and just like that any objection could have had dematerializes.

"Good point," she acknowledges, feels her lips quirk into a smile, "I suppose you'd take the candy with you if you left, huh?"

Blair rolls her eyes and then moves to Serena and hooks her arm through the blonde's, "I've laid out a variety of activities I think you'll enjoy…" she admits proudly, "Besides candy-eating."

And Serena giggles, can't help it, "B…" she draws the nickname out and lets Blair pull her over to stand in front of the tree.

"For instance," Blair continues, "This…" she points to the Pine Tree.

Serena nods, "It's lovely," she says, "And very sweet of you to allow it," she peaks over at Chuck, "And to bring it…"

Blair nods, "Mm, yes…"

And Chuck's standing beside her on the other side then, handing her a flute of champagne.

A quick (and not totally surreptitious) glance around finds Nate on Chuck's other side, a glass in his hand already.

She takes it then; holds it carefully, but doesn't lift it to her lips; she turns her head to look at Blair.

"It needs to be decorated," the brunette says, waves at the bare needles, when she has Serena's attention once more.

Serena stares at Blair for a moment and she hears the other girl, she does, but she's got her bottom lip caught between her teeth and she can't stop herself from cutting her gaze back in Nate's direction— he's _not _watching her, his eyes fixed on the tree again and that that bubble of delight she'd felt fades away…

"And we're going to do it," Blair continues, tugs at Serena's arm, asking for her attention and Serena blinks, shifts her gaze back to Blair, "We're going to decorate it," Blair clarifies, affirms, _commands. _

Serena inhales slowly, the glass feeling heavy in her hand suddenly. Her plan for tonight had consisted mostly of sleeping (possibly eating a whole bag of Mini Reeses Peanut Butter cups and watching a holiday movie before it occurred).

What she's being presented with now is a little unbalancing, in the space of ten minutes or less her living room had been turned into the scene of a holiday party and Blair had _activities _for her to do and—

And the brief moment of happiness, of _relief_ she'd felt when Nate had smiled, spoken, was drifting away…

"All of us," Chuck says then.

She starts a little bit, takes a step back, but Blair doesn't release her.

"And we're going to have fun," the brunette picks up and then she lifts her glass a little, "Right?"

A moments silence and then, a steady, "Yep," and Nate's arm reaches across as he gently touches his flute to Blair's.

Chuck smirks, lifts his own glass to touch Nate's, "Might as well, since I'm already here," he agrees wryly.

And Serena's breath leaves her on a rush then, a stifled gasp of a laugh and it's not just because of Chuck's words; it's this toast, four glasses clinking together— that reaches back into their childhood, its Nate's mixed signals and Blair's determination and Chuck's humor and her three best friends throwing her a _surprise Christmas Eve Celebration… _

She brings a hand to her mouth as she smiles wide, lifts her glass to touch Blair's, "Right, of course," she teases, "Wouldn't want to put you out…"

Chuck nods, sends her an amused look, "Rightly so."

And then they all drink— to decorating a tree and to fun.

* * *

*******

* * *

"But it _has _to have a _star!" _Serena shouts for the third time, voice loud as if the holiday music they have on were at a volume higher than the very soft background noise they have it set as. She smacks her hand on the coffee table for emphasis this time, giggles as leftover popcorn flies into the air at the gesture and then swipes her hand around, swirling the pieces onto her lap and the carpet.

"No matter how high the volume of your voice gets, it will not make us taller nor the tree shorter, so please _desist," _Chuck tells her and then takes a swallow of eggnog, grimacing slightly.

Serena had switched his glass an hour and a half ago, _scotch is not christmasy enough! _He's stretched out on her sofa now; Blair's lying all along his side, their feet intertwined and her head on his shoulder. "He's right, S," she says drowsily, a small smile on her face. Chuck smirks at the affirmation and idly twirls a lock of her hair between his fingers.

"You're to blame for this!" Serena accuses jovially; she's sitting on the floor, leaning both elbows on the coffee table, "You brought a tree that's too big…!"

"I could stand on the chair and do it," Nate offers.

"But it's _my _tree," Serena pouts, "You said so… all of you said so… _I _should get to do it!"

Nate smiles at her, "_You _could stand on the chair and do it."

And that is _such _a brilliant point, "Nate!" She pushes up from the floor, "That's a _brilliant _idea!"

And he looks up at her as she straightens, tips his head back and his hair falls away from his forehead, "I'm a pretty brilliant person," he tells her, laughing as the pieces of popcorn slip off her lap and onto his.

Serena's heart kind of stutters a beat at the way the smile stretches across his face, the sound of his laugh— and she covers that up with a laugh of her own; she has to step over him to get to the tree since he's sitting on the floor with her, all leaned back against the sofa with his legs stretched out in front of him.

And she puckers her lips as she hops over him, leans down a bit and runs her fingers through his hair as she passes by, says brightly, "Oh totally!" And calls, "Come help me!" As she glides over to the tree, whirling around and grinning at him.

The only light in the suite now is the tree, shimmering with white and red, green and blue, yellow and even orange lights. It's taken them three hours to decorate the tree in a way they all find _appropriate_— a mix of Blair's Waterford collectible ornaments and Serena's demand of blue, purple, and silver tinsel that had had Dorota rushing back to them less an hour after she'd left. Serena had _needed _it— after she'd had the glass of champagne and two glasses of eggnog. By silent agreement they'd employed the _no-empty-glass _provision as they worked and by the time they were hanging ornaments at the middle of the tree Serena had forgotten why she was ever hesitant about this; there was Blair arguing that how the tinsel didn't go with her ornaments and Chuck saying there were reasons why people were hired and _paid _to do this sort of thing and Nate laughing, looping lights all around and throwing handfuls of tinsel at branches with her…

They'd used all Blair's decorations and then Serena insisted on making pop corn to string (had insisted Chuck call down to the concierge to _bring _them string); and then Nate dug through his bag and pulled out sheets of blank white paper and scissors.

Serena's eyes had gone wide and her mouth had dropped open.

_"Nate!" She screeched excitedly, "You didn't!"_

_And he smiled a touch shyly, nodded and set the paper and scissors on the coffee table._

_"He brought paper," Chuck deadpanned, eyed the sheets Nate was laying out disinterestedly, "Is that supposed to be thrilling?"_

_"We're going to _make _snowflakes!" Serena announced and moved in Nate's direction, skimmed her hand over his arm, "This is great!" _

_He tensed almost imperceptibly, but his smile stretched, "I thought you'd like it."_

_She nodded excitedly, "We can put them on string! Hang them up! It'll be—"_

_"I'm sorry— are you wanting to put _paper _ornaments on my tree," Blair wondered, sounding a little scandalized by the very thought, "Don't you think the _food _that is now marring it is pedestrian enough? There's really no need to—"_

_"I thought this was a surprise for _me,_ Blair?" Serena questioned sweetly, batted her lashes once at her best friend and then looked over at Nate, "Nate, isn't that what Blair told you?" _

_He looked up from where he was placing one pair of grade-school style scissors atop each of the four stacks of paper he'd set out, "Yep, that's what she told me." He agrees. _

_"Chuck—"_

_"I plead the fifth and need more scotch…" he interrupted before she could question him, turned towards the counter and reached for the bottle._

_"Ah! Ah!" Serena cried and ran across the room, snatching the bottle from Chuck's grasp and giggle when a stream of the golden liquid spilled from the top and landed with a splash on top of the counter tile. _

_"Serena!"_

_She set the bottle and took the glass from Chuck's hand, slid it away and reached for a new glass, filled it with eggnog, "Here! This is better! Scotch isn't Christmas-y enough!" She shoved the glass into hand and looped an arm through his, tugging him away from the counter and around to where Blair was seated on the sofa and Nate settling himself on the floor, looking so incredibly _adorable_ in his Santa hat, holding the small scissors, that for a moment Serena didn't hear Chuck speaking as they walked._

_"… expect me to drink eggnog and play with paper?" _

_She caught the tail end of her brother's rant and reluctantly shifted her gaze away from Nate to Chuck. "This was all your ide—"_

_"It was Blair's—"_

_"Same-difference!" She cried and turned him towards the sofa, gave him a push towards it. _

She'd looked at Nate then and he'd looked back, smiled at her again and there was tiny part of her that realized he'd had less to drink than she had. The first glass of champagne and then a glass of eggnog that he'd abandoned on an end table to string lights early on, so all these smile and laughs he was giving her, they were—

She'd gone to the floor beside him and they'd made the snowflakes… Blair behind them offering advice, _no, don't cut so close together, _until Serena had gathered up one of Nate's neat paper-scissor combo and handed it to the brunette on the sofa. Without a word, Nate had gathered the other stack and handed it to Chuck, who'd taken it—also without a word.

And Serena stands back now, admires their tree, with its too many lights and too much tinsel and popcorn and paper and glass decorations—and she _loves _it.

Nate drags a chair to the tree's side and holds a hand out to her, responds with a cheerful, "Helping…!" and a tilt of his head.

The lights are dancing colors all over his face, in his hair, his smile, and it fills her up inside (it happens sometimes, when she least expects it); the _easiness _of it, of them, how _simple _it could be (_perfect), _carries her away as she puts her hand in his and he helps her hop up into the chair. She wavers a little, bare-feet on the chair cushion and head swimming a little at the change in altitude, "Oh!" She giggles, her free hand waving around a little, "Whoops…!"

And Nate's hand is at the center of her back then, steadying her.

"Sorry!" She breathes, looking down at him.

He grins up at her, "No worries, I didn't expect drunk and balance to go together."

She laughs, "M'not _drunk," _she tells him, "Just_ happy," _she corrects, "This was a _good _idea…" she looks out into the dim living room then, see Chuck and Blair— heads together and voices low and in their own bubble of _happy, _"But, shhh, don't tell them…"

He nods, one hand still on her back, the other clasped in hers. "I won't," he assures her and then drops his hand from her back and carefully hands the star.

"Oooh!" She cries as Nate lifts it towards her, "Chuck! Blair!" She calls— they can go back into their bubble in a second, "Look! Come on, the _star!" _

The brunette's lift their heads and Blair whispers something in Chuck's ear, Chuck whispers back, and Blair nods. Then she straightens a little, runs a hand through her hair before fixing her brown eyes on Serena. "We are not getting up," she announces.

"We are however watching you from here," Chuck picks up, "So, proceed."

And Blair laughs softly then, "But we promise, we're taking mental pictures."

Serena bites her lip for a moment, considering— and then she accepts that watching from over there, with _mental pictures_, is better than not watching at all. "Okay!" And she agrees and takes the star from Nate.

She's lifting it up to the tree's highest point, has to brush hair out of her face with her forearm before she can slip it over the branch, when she feels Nate put his hand on her upper thigh; she giggles, has _getting hand-sy there, Archibald, _on the tip of her tongue as she finishes setting up the star when there's pressure on her leg and the hand that's holding hers is suddenly pulled backwards.

She squeaks, "_Nate!_" As she loses her balance, as _he knocks her off balance, _and tumbles backwards off the chair— and into his arms.

* * *

**.TBC.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer**: I do not own "Gossip Girl."

* * *

***

* * *

Nate can't say he planned it this way, he didn't really _plan _it _any_ way except to decide that it _was _a plan; but he's learned to recognize a golden opportunity when he sees it. She's all laughter and smiles and golden hair glimmering with all the colors of the rainbow as she stares at the Christmas tree, the lights and tinsel sparkling over her face and hair and grin…

And it's a probably the messiest Tree any of them have ever had— too much of everything and no order whatsoever except, _okay, okay, my turn now! _as they put ornaments and tinsel all over it—

He's watched her all night, sometimes obviously and sometimes not, and he'd considered that if he let her drink much more than he'd have to postpone this little plan all together, had been resigning himself to doing that— but then she stands up on the chair and he just _does _it.

He pulls her off balance and catches her as she falls; and she tenses, startled and yelping, _Nate! _in an alarmed voice so he leans in immediately and presses a kiss to her lips (to silence her, nothing to do with having her in his arms and not being able to stop himself).

He steps back from the chair as he lifts his lips from hers, looks into her suddenly wide blue eyes and murmurs, "Shhh," with a smile.

And then he glances over at Chuck and Blair, both of whom are sitting up straight now— watching them with interest; Nate gives them a nod, says very politely, "Excuse us for a moment."

Then he turns towards the closest door and pushes it open, slides past it, and stands with his back resting against it— Serena in his arms.

They're both silent for a long moment and then he says wryly, "Get the light, will ya…?"

"Na--Nate…?"

"Lights, Serena."

"Put me down," she pushes at his chest then, "You—you just ki— Wha--what are you doing…?"

"_Lights_, please, and I might totally tell you…" he teases.

She's silent, still for a moment and then he feels her slip arm behind his head and flick on the light. It's a moment to adjust to the change and then he sees, she's staring at him with wide eyes, "Nate, what are—"

He kisses her again and she starts in his hold, surprised; he smiles against her mouth.

It doesn't last long though, she pulls back, a hand at his chest, "Nate, what is this— put me down— we're in the _bathroom." _She murmurs in quick succession, voice breathy and eyes anywhere but his face.

He nods, "Yeah, didn't think I'd make it across to your room without Chuck or Blair stopping us…"

"Why are you— you… you _kissed_ me."

There's a thread of wonder in her voice that lets Nate keep his smile, lets his gaze rove over her whole face while he says simply, "Yes."

She takes a deep breath, is stiff in his arms as she point out, "_Twice_."

He nods, "Yep."

"Why?" The arm behind his head has been left to rest around his neck; her gaze fixed on his lips, not his eyes.

He lifts the corners of it up in a half-smile, "Hm, once to keep you quiet and then to make sure I have your attention."

"Oh," she blinks at him, "Okay… are you going to put me down now?"

"Do you want me to?"

"Um... yeah, I think that… would be good now…"

He nods, says, "Okay," and carefully sets her feet on the floor, releases her.

She jumps a little, wincing, "Cold floor…"

He winces with her, he's wearing socks. "Sorry…"

She moves over to the carpet and then puts a hand on her hip, "You could just _ask _for my attention, Nate."

"You didn't like the kiss?"

"That's not the point," she says quickly and waves a hand around the bathroom. "What's going on? And you know, it's not nice to leave Chuck and Blair out there all alo—"

"I don't think they'll mind so much," Nate interrupts with a smirk.

Serena opens her mouth to retort and instead huffs a laugh, because— he's right, "True— they're probably all-out cuddling now that we're not there to witness it," she says sagely, "You saw them, all _cute _on the sofa," she giggles, "I totally snuck a picture…"

Nate forgets for a moment what he'd brought her in here to do. "You did?!"

She nods, her waves of hair shifting at the enthusiastic motion, "Yes! I'm going to make like nine digital copies and hide them all before I print it out though, it's _so _cute..."

He laughs, "I'll bet you my stash of twizzler's Chuck'll find all those copies and destroy them."

"I could just _steal _your twizzler's, ya know, I know you put them in the M&M's bowl and covered them up," she confesses.

"How—"

She shrugs expansively, "Um, 'cause I _saw _you," she laughs, "And they _were _being cute! And I have _proof!" _

"_You're _being cute." He says it without thinking, because she's as adorable and gorgeous under the fluorescent lights of the bathroom as she was under flickering Christmas lights in the living room.

His words plunge them into momentary silence though, her eyes going wide in her face again— but an instant later and she's smiling, tossing her hair back and batting her lashes at him teasingly, "Aren't I _always _cute…?"

And that, her teasing and the way she smoothes his words over with that brilliant smile, remind him what the point of all this _is;_ he grins at her, leans back against the door and crosses his arms across his chest. "So, we have to talk."

Her smile wavers a little, but not much, "Oh… um, now? In the bathroom?" She giggles, "You don't think that's weird?" Her eyes are sparkling bright blue, but he can see the caution lurking there, she's not as giddily tipsy as she wishes she were.

"I'm okay with the weird," he tells her.

"Oh..." she walks back until her legs bump against the tub, "Why do we— can't we talk some other ti— what's there to talk about?"

Nate takes a deep breath, she's gone all hesitant and breathy and he knows _she _knows exactly what they have to talk about— and he says it for them both, "Well, there's _us_."

She stares at him, silent, her smile fading; and he waits.

"Nate…" she says his name with a shake of her head. "There's… we…"

"I said some things to you—"

"No." She says it firmly, cuts him off with another shake of head, emphatic this time, "We are _not _talking about…" _this, _"Anything tonight. It's Christmas Eve and we are celebrating and— and I'm _drunk._" She finishes with sudden flourish.

He smiles a little at that, "Less than ten minutes ago you said you weren't drunk."

"Drunk people lie!"

"Are you lying right now?"

"No! Yes! _Maybe," _she scowls at him, "This is unfair! You barely drank anything! I _noticed _that, _Nathaniel_."

His smile turns into a grin, "Ouch, full name calling— what'd I do?"

"You—you…" she blows out a breath, looks away from him and he knows what he's done, he's sort of cornered her in the bathroom while she's tipsy to talk about the thing they _do not _talk about.

"Serena," he says her name quietly, drops his arms from his chest and pushes off from the door, "Should I kiss you again? To get your full attention, because I wouldn't mind doing that, at all, if you need me to." He's smiling as he says it, because his heart is starting to pound in his chest and he has to _say _this before he talks himself _out _of it.

She looks at him and there's a flash of panic in her eyes, "Nate, come on— really— it's Christmas Eve and we're supposed to be celebrating… all four of us," she waves a hand behind him towards the door, "We have to make hot chocolate still and there's sticky buns! We saved the cookies, remember! To eat with the cocoa! So just— let's go back out there and just don't— " _say it, _"Make things more complicated than they have to be…" she gives him a smile, shaky at the edges but wholly sincere, "I'm happy you're here, we're having a good time, let's—"

He takes her hand in his, she snaps her mouth shut.

"Just listen to me for a second, okay…?" And he makes it a question, but he doesn't wait for her to answer, "I've been thinking about— what's happened the last few days and about— about you and me. And I think that—"

She interrupts him— with her tongue. One moment he's in the middle of his sentence (that he'd kind of _belabored _over when he'd been planning) and the next she's pressed against him, both her arms wrapped tight around his neck and her mouth moving over his in a way he'd have to be _dead _not to be responsive to. He knows he staggers back a little, but he knows he wraps his arms around her too— so it's probably a bit of a mixed signal.

She's pulls back for breath, pushes closer, and he stumbles back. "Sere—" he leans backwards and realizes a beat later that he's still got his arms around her waist.

"You wanted," she murmurs, as breathless as he is, "To kiss…"

And there's pressure on the top of his feet then; and it's a frenzy of hurried kissing and him with his hands sliding into her hair and her with hers slipping under shirt when he realizes vaguely that she's _standing _on him—and he sort of laughs into her, rocks back his heels, to tip her with him.

She lifts her head a little, mumbles, "Floor's cold."

And he knows what she's doing with the lips and the mouth and the hands under his shirt, on his skin— "… s'not fair…" he tells her, backing up again.

Except she's _on _him now so he's taking her with him with every step. "S'not fair of you…" she says between kisses, "To talk to me while… while I'm drunk."

Nate backs them until he's pressed against the closed door again, "You're not drunk."

"Am too."

"s'Merry Christmas present..."

She freezes at his words, lifts her with a grin, "Present…?"

And he blinks, _breathes _for a second as he stares into her blue eyes, everything slowing down— and he realizes that at some point he's moved a hand from her hair to slide under her t-shirt, that she's not wearing a bra, that she's pressed all along him, that one of her legs is curled around his thigh and the door is supporting a lot more of their weight than he first thought, because they're kind of both breathless and dazed_._

"I… uh…" he licks his lips and they taste like candy-canes and eggnog and _Serena. _He blinks, focuses on clearing his mind and _thinking, "_Yeah," he says, "Uh… that's— that's what I wanted to say to you…"

"It is?" She looks a little wary suddenly, smile dimming— and he's aware they haven't moved an inch, still wrapped around each other.

"You and me," he says looking right into her eyes, "Need some time."

She jerks in his hold, like she wants to pull back, "Na—"

He doesn't let her— move or speak, "I was thinking… time, to ourselves, would be good…"

She sighs, "Nate--"

"So I got tickets."

She closes her mouth and stares at him for a moment, and then wonders softly, "Tickets?"

"For us. To Disney on Ice."

And she blinks; he watches the wariness slip away in favor of a slowly spreading smile, "Really?"

He nods a little, "In Spain."

Her mouth drops open and she squeaks it this time, "Really?!" Doesn't wait for his response, "Nate, that is _awesome!" _She giggles, eyes lighting up, "I _love _Disney on Ice! And Spain is always so fun to—"

He nods again and doesn't let himself think about it, "And I thought maybe," he interrupts, watching her intently, "You could think about being my girlfriend."

Everything about her, the smile, the words, the light in her eyes, freezes for a beat— and then is shuttered away. She shakes her head in a tiny, jerky motion and pushes back out of his arms again, and this time, he lets her go. She staggers back a step, stands with her bare feet on the cold tile and gapes at him.

* * *

*******

* * *

_"… think about being my girlfriend."_

There's a part of her that's panicking. Inside, there's a part of her that's waving her arms and shrieking _don't _and _stop _and backing up all the way _into _the bathtub if necessary; a part of her that would throw all the bottles of shampoo and conditioner and body wash and lotion and every single thing she could lift in this bathroom at him if it would get him to stop talking, to move away from the door so she could run into the living to Chuck and Blair and take pictures of their tree on her phone and make hot chocolate and pretend none this had never happened…

Because there are no words to explain the force she exerts to _not _think about that.

But she's not doing any of those things; because he kissed her and she let him, because _she_ kissed _him_ and he let her, because it's written all over his face— he is _going_ to say this and no amount of arguing or distractions from her is going to stop him—

(and because maybe there's a smaller part of her, deeper inside, that _wants _to hear him)

But she doesn't think about that, she never does; she stands there and she stares at him, his messy hair and his deep blue eyes and the way his lips are pink from her kisses, and she clasps her hands in front of her and tries one more time to divert him, "Nate, please… I know we have to— to talk, I know that there's things— that I owe you an expl— "

He balks a little at the words, "You don't _owe_ me anything, Serena."

"No I _do," _she insists, "You said things to me," she feels a prickling of tears and thinks maybe she really _is _too drunk for this conversation, "And I just… igno— _pretended_ that you didn't and I know—"

His hands wrap around her upper arms gently and he ducks his head a little, "I don't need to hear about that, it's over, okay. Don't worry about it… just would you _listen _to me?"

And she falls silent at that earnest request, those imploring eyes; it feels like her heart is going to pound out of her chest and her mouth is suddenly so dry she can't swallow and she's digging the nails of her right hand into her left, but she is _silent._

"We do a fake relationship really well, don't we?"

And that was not what she was expecting, she starts a little.

He presses on, "We could probably do a real one just as well," he tells her simply, "Probably better— but I thought, we could start it fake," he offers and she can't think, is doing just, _only, _what he's asked of her, listening. "And then, if you think—if there's something true in it, than we can—we could make it real."

He drops his hands from her arms then, straightens a little, but he keeps his eyes on her face, "And you—" he takes a quick breath, "You should know it wasn't just three years ago, that I loved you," he leans back a little, "It's kind of a current thing too," he brings a hand up in a tiny shrug, says, "Future thing."

And her gaze just fixes on him, dazed and slow, marveling at how matter-of-fact he sounds…

He's stepping to the side then, opening the door. "So just— think about it. I mean, we'll still have fun either way."

It takes her a good five seconds to realize he's referring to the _show; _the Disney on Ice _show. _

He's nodding at her then and turning around and then she's alone in the bathroom. Which is a good, because he loves her— a current thing and a future thing— and he wants her to be his girlfriend and they can start fake and keep it if there's something true and they'll have fun at the show either way— and she's alone, so she can let the tears pool and fall, can wipe them away really quickly and then follow him into the living room.

* * *

*******

* * *

Serena doesn't look at Nate when she steps into the living room; she looks at the room, let's her eyes adjust to the dimness of it after the harsher lights in the bathroom, looks to the tree and its shimmering colors and lights, she looks at Blair. Blair's sitting up on the sofa now and she doesn't look drowsy anymore. Her feet are on the carpet and her hair's spilling around her shoulders and she has a candy cane in one hand and her eyes are fixed right on the doorway, _waiting _for Serena to walk through it.

And Serena doesn't know what Blair sees in her expression (panic? confusion? _omfg?_), but it has the brunette rising from her seat and coming towards her, looping an arm through hers as she says, "Hot chocolate?" And tugs her towards the kitchen area, "Yes…"

Serena nods and doesn't have to look over to feel Chuck and Nate watching her.

Blair doesn't so much _help _with the hot chocolate as she does lean on the counter with the candy cane in her mouth and watch Serena heat the mugs pre-filled with Dorota's special blend in the microwave.

The room is quiet except for the soft music and the din of the microwave. Nate's uncovering his twizzler's from the bowl of M&M's and Chuck's watching him amusedly sipping his eggnog—not even grimacing.

"You were in there a long a time," Blair whispers as Serena puts the third mug into the microwave.

"Take those to them," Serena says.

Blair wants to scoff, instead she says wryly, "Oh I can't. I'm busy."

Serena looks over at Blair casually leaning against the counter, feels a smile touch her lips at the response, "Doing what?"

She doesn't deign that with a responses, wonders instead, "What did he do? Say? In there?" Blair wonders.

Serena motions towards the mugs, "They're gonna get cool before they get to try them…"

"You look rather shell-shocked," she observes.

Serena frowns a bit, "I'm _not." _She kind of was.

"He looks rather pleased with himself."

And Serena turns without comment; removes one mug, replaces it with the last from the microwave. Then she draws in a deep breath and turns back to Blair, smiles. "Thanks for this, B. I didn't think I was up for it… but I was, am. I'm really glad you came."

Blair nods, studies her best friend as amusedly as Chuck had studied his, "Hm, oh I know. We're going to play Mad Mistletoe now."

Serena starts a little. "Mad Mistl—" she shakes her head, "But… that game… you…"

"We have mistletoe and music and we are the creators are we not?"

Serena blinks, finds herself smiling a little, "_I'm _the creator—"

"Semantics, Serena. Who allowed you to play this at _her _holiday party of the year in 7th grade?"

Serena pulls the last mug from the microwave, "Well, yes Blair. That would be you," she admits and surprises herself when she hears the teasing note in her voice. She's not relaxing, she's not— she's just… enjoying the music and the way the Christmas lights sparkle over everything and the smell of chocolate and the company of her best friend…

Blair nods and turns towards the living room, "Nate…!"

And Serena jumps in the air; hisses, "_Blair," _heatedly and then lets her hair fall in front of her face and hopes the brunette can't see her _blush _in the shadowed room.

Blair blinks, _almost _innocently, "What?"

"Yeah Blair?" Nate calls over, with a smile, "What?"

"Come get your hot chocolate… and Chuck's," she answers and then Blair takes a mug for herself and smiles at Serena, before walking away; calling over her shoulder a moment later, "Don't forget the sticky buns, S."

She passes Nate on the way and smiles sunnily up at him; slips in next to Chuck who promptly wraps an arm around her and takes the mug out of her hands.

Nate leans his elbows on the counter and looks at Serena; she presses her lips together and doesn't quite meet his eyes, but she slides two mugs over towards him.

He wraps his hands around them and tilts his head to one side, says, "Thanks," with a half-smile and then he turns around and walks back to Chuck and Blair.

He gives the mug to Blair since Chuck's still got hers and he sits down on the floor again. Chuck bumps his foot against Nate's shoulder and Nate leans over to the armchair, picks up candy canes from one of the trays they'd set their and hands two of them over to Chuck. Chuck drops one his mug, puts the other Blair's and she turns her face presses a quick kiss to his lips.

And Serena can't catch her breath for a moment— because… it's like she's looking through a window suddenly, the moment crystallizing in her mind— a hazy mirage of what it could be like if she… if she was— let herself be, Nate's girlfriend; and she gapes at them, the scene in front of her…

It just _can't _be this… this easy, this simple… her with Nate and Blair with Chuck and hot chocolate beside a twinkling Christmas tree and games and teasing and together and— _perfect… _

She _feels _it when he looks over at her, allows her gaze find his and he smiles at her again.

_if there's something true in it_

"Serena…?" He says her name and waves his hand over, "Come on."

"There's mistletoe to be dealt with," Chuck announces, leering a little at her.

Blair swats him in the shoulder and then pins her eyes on Serena, "Could you bring the sticky buns over before I talk myself out of consuming the caloric intake of a child for an entire year in one sitting?"

_we could make it real_

"Serena?" Nate says her name again, looks like he's about to stand, "You okay?"

She blinks. "Oh, uh… yeah, no… yes!" She shakes her head, "I'm fine… yes. Right…" and she licks her lips, finds the tray of sticky buns and carries them over. Nate takes them when she's close enough, swipes a hand over the surface of the coffee table to clear it of paper and popcorn and string and then sets it down. Serena stares at him, he stares back—and she thinks Blair is right, he does look vaguely pleased with himself.

"I control first," Chuck announces and waves the remote control of the stereo in the air.

"Why do you get to go first?" Blair wonders.

"Because I have this," Chuck answers, waves the remote again.

Blair takes a sip of her hot chocolate, "What if I want to go first?"

"Are you going to sit?" Nate asks her, takes a bit of sticky bun and waves to the spot on the floor where she'd been sitting before getting up to put the star on the tree— that kind of feels like a hundred hours ago…

She blows out a slow breath, realizes she's just standing there and that she's staring at him and that yes… yes, it could be this simple… because he was giving her all the ways out and so many ways in…

And of course— of course there would be something true; there was the last time, there would be every time— and, and…

She smiles at him and then moves and drops herself onto the couch beside Blair, half _on _Blair.

"Serena!" Blair screeches it, has to rear over into Chuck and nearly spill both their drinks.

Serena laughs and pretends for the moment to not see the hurt flash across Nate's face. "B!" She cries and links her arm through Blair's, drops her head on Blair's shoulder and puts her gaze on Nate's face, "Guess what?!" She says to Blair.

And Blair tries to shrug her off and then to look into her face and can't manage either in the position she's in so she rolls her eyes, "Yes, Serena, what?"

"Nate's taking me to Spain," she says.

And Blair pauses, looks over at Chuck, who looks at Nathaniel, who's gaze has gone intent on Serena's face.

A silent beat and then Blair prods, "Is he now?"

"Yep, to see a Disney on Ice show," she answers, puckers her lips as she drops her gaze to Nate's mouth, "I hope it's a Princess one."

"Well," Chuck draws the word, his gaze still on his best friend, "Isn't that…" he pauses, "_Cute."_

"Yeah," Serena agrees, nodding against Blair's shoulder, "Guess what?"

Blair sighs and humors her, "What, Serena?"

"I'm going as his girlfriend…"

Blair starts, tries to yank herself away from Serena, to look into her face, but the blonde won't let go; keeps her hold tight and her eyes on Nate as Blair snaps, "What?!"

Nate's still watching her, "You… are?" He wonders and there's a questioning note in his voice that hurts her heart.

But she nods again, against Blair's shoulder. "Hmm-yeah…"

"You are, _what?" _Blair asks, looks at Nate and back to Serena, "When did…? His… _girlfriend_?" She wonders.

Serena lifts her head, says, "Guess what?" again and meets Nate's gaze.

Blair shifts herself on the sofa and stares at Serena's, "_What?!" _

"For real," she announces.

And Nate blinks, puts the sticky bun down, "Real…?"

And she nods at him, "_Total_ real."

He stands up at that and she pushes off the sofa, takes a step towards him.

"Real?" he repeats.

They're in front of each then and she bites her lip a little, nods. "Yeah," and she thinks of all the things that can go wrong and how this _isn't _a mistake even if any of that does; because it's simple and easy— and even when it's not, it's them and _true. _

He smiles at her, like he's reading it all in her eyes; and he touches her face, fingers on her cheek, opens his mouth… but before he can say a word she giggles, high-pitched and happy and leans back from him, "You're sticky!" She accuses, wipes at her face.

Nate stares at her for a beat and then he looks at his hand and he grins, "Oh that's not sticky…?" he murmurs.

And she takes a step back laughs. He leans down and quickly swipes a sticky bun from the plate.

"Don't!" She shouts and takes a bigger step back, "I'm your _girlfriend!"_

"And you _love _these," he informs her, following her.

She sidesteps the couch and holds her hands out as she runs backwards away from him, "Nate—I'm wearing pajamas!" She says laughingly, "I _sleep_ in these!"

He bounds after her, "You don't _have _to!"

And he grabs her around the waist when she comes up against the counter, pulls her up close to him; she laughs and squeaks and buries her face in his shoulder.

Blair watches them as they jump around the suite in nonsensical joy; and then looks at Chuck, arcs an eyebrow, "What just happened?"

He shrugs, sips hot chocolate, "Declarations of love and the dawn of a new relationship?"

"They're a couple now?"

He smirks a little, looks oddly smug, "Apparently."

Blair blinks, looks again at the blondes across the room— and there's Nate with Serena pressed into his shoulder biting into the sticky bun and Serena lifting her head and opening her mouth, there's Nate holding it to her and her taking a big bite and the kiss they share a moment later…

She looks at Chuck again, "I still want to go first."

And he smirks at her, "What will you trade me for it?"

* * *

.the end.


End file.
